


close to my heart, never to part

by cosimamanning



Series: heroes shaped like little girls [3]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Cute Eight Year Old Friendships, F/F, I Crave The Sweet Release of Death, Kids Forgetting They're Kids, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 07:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosimamanning/pseuds/cosimamanning
Summary: Charlotte only has one good leg and Rachel only has one real eye and Helena’s heart is on the wrong side of her chest and Kira feels all of them, all of their imperfections, all of their hurts, all of their hates, all of their struggles.





	close to my heart, never to part

**Author's Note:**

> hi so,,,,this hurts but stick thru till the end bc there's some sweet sweet resolution and a happy ending! pinky promise! i'm not that evil!

Kira swings her legs experimentally in the empty space underneath the examination table, letting the physician perform their customary check-ups. She tries not to wince too hard when the needles make purchase on her veins, still small, purple and bruising, tries to keep her face stoic and straight like she sees her mother keep it, like she sees Mrs. S―Mrs. S who tried to teach her how to play poker, once, on a rainy night when her mother was away, when Kira could feel her, afraid and distant, the thunder rumbling through the both of them, but Mrs. S always said that Kira has a horrible poker face―but the physician just gives her a cold, unfeeling sort of shrug, unapologetic, as he wipes away the small smear of blood from the entry point. Kira knows she hasn’t perfected it yet. 

She’s only eight, after all. Eight year olds aren’t supposed to be masters at poker. 

She thinks her mother might have been able to do it, though, at eight. Sarah had always been the adaptable one, quick to learn, a survivor at the core. None of Kira’s aunts were as good as it as she was, except for maybe Rachel, Rachel who had grown up in a lab, Rachel who had grown up studied, Rachel who would have had to have learned early on to perfect her poker face. 

The physician returns with another needle and Kira sucks in a quick breath, neutralizing her expression, and stills. 

Charlotte is in the other room, with Rachel, and instead of focusing on the sting of the needle Kira focuses on them, on their  _ feeling _ , the way they wrap around one another, feed into each other. 

Charlotte has always been warm tones of yellows, bright and youthful and optimistic, only rarely tainted by the torrential colors that the others feel, the blues and the reds and the uglier tones of green or pink. Rachel has always been the angriest, a dark, bleeding crimson, more muted under the influence of the island,  _ Wonderland _ , and together, Kira thinks, they paint quite the sunset, reds bleeding into oranges bleeding into yellows.

Charlotte was made in Rachel’s image, and Kira can understand how. 

People compare her to her mother all the time, to Sarah. Her  _ mum _ . 

Kira preens when they do it, because her mum is the bravest person she knows, the strongest, the most resourceful, the most beautiful, the best at everything she does. But sometimes it makes her scared, makes her angry, sometimes it makes bitterness swell in her because she does not  _ want  _ to be like her mother, never wants to be like her, not ever. 

On one of the nights where Kira is in  _ that  _ sort of mood, Charlotte helps her make a fort in her room and they tell stories by torch-light, and Charlotte waits patiently for her to speak. Sometimes Kira thinks the connection must go both ways, because Charlotte always seems to know when she needs to talk, when there is something weighing on her.

“She always leaves,” Kira whispers, finally, when she’s ready, and Charlotte nods because their hearts are too heavy for eight year olds and Charlotte understands being left. Charlotte has gone through two mothers already and looks to Cosima now for guidance, Cosima who fears being left the most out of all of them. Kira blinks tears out of her eyes when she thinks of stormy nights curled up into Mrs. S’s side, burrowed under blankets, feeling her mother’s fear and her own aching loneliness, the part of her that was  _ missing  _ because her mother was  _ gone _ , distance, in her heart but so far beyond her reach.

“She always leaves,” Kira whispers again, and her heart constricts painfully because her mum leaving is like a self-fulfilling prophecy. She says she won’t, says she’ll be better, comes back with promises of  _ family  _ and  _ not this time  _ and  _ real homes _ but something always happens and she always ends up  _ leaving _ , “I don’t want to be like that.”

Kira loves Sarah more than she loves anything, anyone, loves her with the ferocity that only a child can love a mother, a love she knows her mother returns just as fiercely. Her mother has fought for her, tooth and nail. She knows her mother will go to the end of the earth for her. 

But she also knows that she’ll leave, sooner or later, and it scares her, terrifies her. 

In the blanket fort they made together, Kira shakes, and Charlotte pulls her in for a hug, and Kira lets her, because she forgets sometimes that she’s only eight years old. It’s easy to forget when there are so many emotions so much older than her thrumming through her veins, so much going on around her, involving her, that no child her age should have to endure. 

Charlotte understands. 

Charlotte tells her stories of a girl who a year younger than even them, who had been brave, so brave, but was not brave by design, not brave by choice. Charlotte tells her stories of Aisha and her braveness, of Aisha who was brave even though she didn’t want to be, even though she didn’t have to be, Aisha who was brave even though being brave scared her so much it broke her. 

Kira remembers her early life in flashes, in feelings, she tells Charlotte, and she’s not sure they’re her own. 

“I remember happiness,” Kira tells her, once the shudders in her body subside and she feels a little more grounded. Charlotte keeps a hand on her arm for support, though, just in case, smiling at her encouragingly, “so much happiness, bright and all-consuming, and so much  _ love _ .”

Her mother’s, for her, undoubtedly. 

Sarah was never one to stay still for long, always moving, even from a young age. 

Kira always asked about her, since the day she was old enough to put into words the questions that were constantly on her mind. Mrs. S was often reluctant to answer, bitterness souring her expression like a stormcloud, but she would cave eventually under the full brunt of Kira’s wobbling lower lip and shining eyes. Sarah was always moving, foot tapping, eyes flickering around, observing her surroundings, looking for the best routes of escape, mentally noting how fast she would need to run, where she would need to duck to avoid people. 

Kira remembers her first year in flashes of warmth and love and joy, but she also remembers the longing, the itch to  _ move _ . There was a restlessness in Sarah that not even her love for Kira could cure, so she had left, as she always did, and Kira cried long into the night when she did, none of S’s lullabyes able to calm her. 

“She makes promises she can’t keep,” Kira continues, and her heart is heavy, because she loves her mother so much, more than anything, but she knows, deep down, that she’ll always  _ leave _ . “She’s trying, but I know my mum.”

Charlotte nods, expression heavy, and they look so much older than they are. 

“I don’t think any of us are very good at staying, or at being stayed with. Maybe we’re unlucky.” She sounds so sad when she says it. Kira knows she’s remembering Aisha, remembering Cosima, remembering Rachel. Kira thinks about it and remembers her mother, remembers Helena, remembers Mika, remembers the flashes of emotions she was never able to put names to, like Katja, Beth, Jennifer. 

Maybe Charlotte’s right. 

Maybe they’re unlucky.

She feels them, all of them, all the time, feels their fears coursing through her veins alongside her own like raging rivers, and sometimes Kira thinks she's going to overflow. Because it's the same fear, amplified over and over, the fear of being  _ left _ . Feels it from her mother, from Cosima, from Rachel, from herself, the fear of being alone, of being abandoned, and it makes her feel so small. 

She tries to make herself bigger, braver, like the heroes in the stories she and Charlotte tell in their blanket forts, but there are days where even she can't ignore the fact that she's only eight years old, and battles are meant to be fought  _ for _ her, not  _ by _ her. Mrs. S tucks her hair behind her ears and makes her breakfast and her mum smiles at her softly, the way Kira craves, and makes promises she can't keep, but sometimes it's enough. 

“Even unlucky people can be lucky sometimes, though,” Charlotte tries, twisting the friendship bracelet Kira made her around her wrist, and Kira smiles at her softly, the way she sees her mum smile when she's trying to convince other people that she's okay. Kira always knows when she isn't, though, Kira can  _ feel _ . 

“Thanks, Char.” Absentmindedly, Kira thumbs at the bracelet on her own wrist. Mrs. S taught her how to make them, a long time ago, and she wonders sometimes when S had the time to learn crafts amidst all her spying and  _ hustling _ . It's warm and comforting and bright, and it tethers her, reminds her that there are things in the world that are good. 

She doesn't go back to DYAD anymore, not after Rachel saved her, Rachel who everyone says she can't trust but Charlotte watches through eyes brimming with gold. She knows she wears the bracelet she gave her, though. 

Kira saw Rachel start to pick her nails bloody, a familiar deep anxiety settling in the pit of her stomach like lead, pressure building in her throat. It hurts, to know that Rachel feels that, that Rachel is  _ used  _ to the feeling, and as Kira thumbs at her bracelet she hopes now that Rachel will have something to tug at that won't hurt her. 

She still makes stories, though, with Charlotte, but in them, the elephant is no longer a villain. Now she likens her to  _ Dumbo _ , with ears big enough to carry her away and fly far away from all her troubles. Charlotte smiles brightest when she spins the story like that. 

They’ve left the familiarity and safety of Mrs. S’s house, because P.T. is still after Kira, and moving around constantly brings the familiar weariness that Kira hates. She wants, more than anything, to be a normal girl, to be able to go to school and have friends and learn and have a  _ home _ , with her mum and dad in one place, together. 

She watches the way Sarah talks with Cosima, their heads so close they’re almost touching, drawing energy from one another, always touching, her mum’s hand gently supporting Cosima’s waist as though she forgets she doesn’t have to anymore, Cosima leaning into her mum on the days when even she can’t escape tiredness. She feels how they bleed into one another, warm and comforting and safe, and thinks that maybe the second part of her wish might not be as feasible as it once was. 

Charlotte watches with her, keen eyes sharp and intelligent. 

She can’t feel them, not the way that Kira can, but she doesn’t need to with the way they act, the way their eyes always follow one another, the way Sarah asks after Cosima almost as much as she asks after Kira herself, or how the mentions of the French doctor come less and less frequently. 

Kira had never liked her. It was harder for her to trust people she couldn’t feel, but she didn’t need to be able to  _ feel  _ Delphine to know there was something about her that was cruel, harsh, biting. Her mother has her sharp edges, but around Cosima, she softens, and Kira’s happy that they have one another, soaking in the warmth of the love they feel for one another. 

“Do you think they know we know?” Charlotte asks her one night, at the Rabbit Hole, when the two of them are hidden under a hastily constructed blanket tent on the bed, peeking out to spy on their respective guardians every once in awhile when they’re sure they aren’t looking. 

“No,” Kira shakes her head, a small smile gracing her face. Her mother’s expression is entirely transfixed on Cosima, the way Cosima’s entire face lights up when she speaks, the way her hands dance with emotions, “they’re too busy staring at each other. Besides, they don’t expect us to notice. We’re eight.”

Charlotte huffs, as though insulted, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Charlotte can speak three languages so far―Aisha had begun teaching her the fourth, and it makes Charlotte too sad to practice, so sometimes she just stares at her lessons and cries―and Kira has the emotions of at least a dozen adults coursing through her head. The others forget, sometimes, that they’re so young, yet at the same time, they always underestimate them. 

Kira steals one last look at her mother, the way she looks at Cosima, eyes filled with love, soft and patient, and sighs. If anyone deserves it, it’s her. 

It’s peaceful, Kira thinks, as she and Charlotte curl up together in their nest of blankets and pillows, arms and legs a tangle of limbs, drawing comfort from one another. 

Charlotte has lost so much already. Two mothers, two homes, a friend. Kira feels the guilt weighing down on her as though it were her own, heavy and dragging, whenever she speaks of Aisha and her bravery, Aisha and her light, Aisha and how she  _ lived _ . Charlotte talks of Marion and cocoa and Susan and greenhouses but she talks of nobody with more fondness, with more regret, than Aisha. 

Kira has spent her life being left, waiting, of feeling the pain and loss and suffering of people she did not have the names to. All of Rachel’s aching loneliness, bitter anger, Helena’s wandering sense of no purpose, her self-hatred, her own mother’s fear, bright and bubbling, the need to  _ run _ , the skittishness. 

They’re broken, all of them, in different ways. 

Charlotte only has one good leg and Rachel only has one real eye and Helena’s heart is on the wrong side of her chest and Kira feels all of them, all of their imperfections, all of their hurts, all of their hates, all of their struggles. 

She nestles further into Charlotte, soaking in her warmth, relishing in the soft, comforting pulses of  _ contentment  _ that radiate from the girl as she drifts out of wakefulness and into sleep, and feels her own eyes begin to droop. She feels her mother kiss her forehead, a hand smoothing hair behind her ear, and then bright, vibrant love, spreading through her slowly like sunshine. 

“Goodnight, monkey,” Sarah whispers, and Kira mumbles incoherently before sleep takes her, letting her drift into the world of dreams once more. 

There are moments like this, few and far between, of peace. Where Charlotte and Kira can pretend, for a moment, studying over books that Scott and Hell Wizard bring them, that they are normal eight year old girls. Kira has spent too long being tossed around to think it will last, has spent too long feeling the lights, the colors, the  _ feelings _ , of a name she did not have flickering out. Mika’s face appears in Kira’s mind before she can stop it and Kira chokes back tears because she  _ misses  _ her, misses her fear and her anger and her sadness, would do anything to get her back. 

People keep leaving Kira, and she catalogues the feelings in her every morning when she wakes, Alison’s fierce protectiveness, Rachel’s anger, Helena’s reflection, Cosima’s hope, Charlotte’s guilt, her mother’s love. She wonders which will leave her next. 

Mrs. S always knows when she’s in a mood, dragging her feet and wondering about the inevitable crash and burn of their lives, because they can’t keep running forever, and she wraps her in big comforters regardless of where they’re at, and fixes her a cup of steaming tea the way she knows Kira likes it, tucking stray bits of Kira’s hair behind her ears. 

“Everything will be alright in the end, chicken,” she promises, voice gravelly and soft and just the way Kira remembers it. Kira has never been able to feel Mrs. S, but she doesn’t need to, because she’s never been surer of anything in the world than Mrs. S’s love for her. 

She’d been there, always, even when her mum couldn’t be, even in the moments when Uncle Felix was absent. There to kiss Kira’s hurts and wipe away her tears and tell her that everything would be okay. Mrs. S was warmth and safety and  _ home _ even when they didn’t have one. 

Peace never lasts. 

Kira learns this lesson the hard way, over and over. 

She’s lost a grandmother already―Kira remembers Kendall’s gruff voice and even gruffer personality, but she also remembers her soft edges in the moments she thought nobody was watching, like Kira and Charlotte peeking around corners and listening on conversations they weren’t supposed to―as well as an aunt―she remembers Mika the way Charlotte remembers Aisha, bright and curious and filled with life, so brave even though brave scared her so much it broke her―and Kira doesn’t want to lose anyone else. 

Maybe Charlotte’s right. 

They’re unlucky. 

Mrs. S dies on a Wednesday. 

Kira isn’t there, none of them are, doesn’t find out until early Thursday morning. She feels her mother’s anguish first, bright and burning and  _ painful _ , and then her own, amplified twofold by her mother’s emotions. Sarah clutches Kira close, like she’s going to disappear, and Kira  _ sobs _ , her grief shaking her entire body. Felix joins them, and they’re a huddle, a family, crying and clutching onto one another as though their lives depend on it―because their lives  _ do  _ depend on it. 

Kira thinks of Mrs. S in years chronicled by comforters and blanket forts and steaming cups of tea as she cries, and thinks about how cruel the world is. Mrs. S had always been the one to promise her that everything would be okay, and Kira was stupid enough to  _ believe _ her. 

Of all the people Kira expected to leave, Mrs. S wasn’t one of them. 

She leaves anyways. 

They don’t have time for a proper funeral, not when P.T. is still after her, not when the world is against them, but they mourn, Kira’s eyes red and puffy, tugging on the friendship bracelet around her wrist. 

A note arrived in the mail a few days earlier, addressed to her, with only two words  _ I’m sorry _ . Kira can feel Rachel’s grief, too, even though she didn’t know Mrs. S, not really, but she thinks they might have been friends, given the chance. 

They bury Mrs. S wearing a friendship bracelet that she taught Kira how to make, and Kira cries the whole time. 

Her mother holds her close, so does Felix, standing tall, unmoving. Mrs. S had raised them to be tough, adaptable, strong. She’d raised them to be able to face anything, knowing that the world would be after them. 

She raised Kira to be soft. She wanted her to have a childhood, to be warm and safe,  _ loved _ . Kira cries a little harder when she thinks about it, and her mum squeezes her hand. There’s so much sadness inside of her now that Kira doesn’t know which of it is hers. 

Sarah keeps her especially close after that, hugging her and pressing kisses to her head and telling her how much she loves her, because she has years of making up to do, years that Mrs. S had filled. Kira smiles up at her sadly while she does it, because she understands why, and it’s sad. 

“I miss her,” she says, brokenly, when the grief is overwhelming but there are no more tears for her to cry, and Sarah just gathers her in her arms and lets Kira bury her head in her hair like she did when she was a baby, inhaling the comforting scent of her. 

“I miss her too, monkey.” There’s no one to call her  _ chicken  _ anymore, and Kira misses it more than anything. “But you have me, okay? Forever.” 

Kira looks up at her with watery eyes and smiles, because her mother has always had a habit of making promises she can’t keep. 

Charlotte does most of the sneaking, now, since Kira is content to stay curled up in whatever bed they’ve been assigned to share, thinking of Mrs. S and life  _ before _ . Charlotte tells her about Helena’s kidnapping, and Kira’s heart sinks low in her chest, because she knows what this means. 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Sarah promises, “you won’t even realize I’m gone. But I have to go and get Auntie Helena before she has her babies, otherwise Coady and Westmoreland will use them like they were gonna use you, right?”

Kira nods, and clutches at her desperately, trying to memorize the shape of her, how she smells, her warmth. 

“I love you,” she mumbles into Sarah’s shoulder, and Sarah pulls her back and kisses her on the forehead softly, eyes gentle, and Kira can feel the familiar love warming her from her ears to her toes. 

“I love you too, monkey.”

And then she leaves, because she always leaves, and Kira is left with Charlotte to  _ wait _ . 

Scott and Hell Wizard do their best to distract them, but Kira is too worried about her mother and Charlotte is too worried about Cosima and Scott’s heart isn’t really in it. Kira can feel their anxiety building in her stomach, but also their fierce determination, Helena’s disorientation, and her own worry, heightened in her frantic state. 

And then Rachel Duncan walks into the Rabbit Hole. 

“Where’s Sarah?” she demands, once she gets past Scott and Hell Wizard after an indignant Charlotte vouches for her goodness and Kira verifies that she feels no ill intent coming from her. Rachel’s one eye is wide with worry and Kira’s own anxiety increases. 

“She’s gone, with the others,” Scott tells her, frowning, as though the answer would be obvious, “to rescue Helena.”

“You have to stop them, it’s a trap―”

And then Kira can’t breathe, because she could feel her mother’s steady determination flowing through her, keeping her head above the crushing anxiety, and then, suddenly, it was  _ gone _ , and Kira reached and reached but she  _ couldn’t feel her _ . 

And then there was agony, like with Mrs. S, and that was Cosima, and Kira knew, Kira  _ knew _ . Charlotte was right, they were unlucky. 

“Kira? Kira darling are you alright?” That was Rachel. Kira could hear her, vaguely. 

“Kira, you need to breathe.” Scott. 

“ _ Kira!” _ Charlotte. 

Kira faded into darkness, and began  _ searching _ , reaching out, because she had done this before, reached out for her mother and brought her back past the brink, away from the edge, kept her from slipping away, because she  _ couldn’t  _ leave her. Not  _ again _ . Not  _ yet _ . Not  _ now _ . 

She wakes up in the familiar state of in-between, feeling light and not quite herself, and she looks around frantically for any sign of her, because she has to lure her back, convince her to return. 

She spies the familiar face, the same jawline, the same nose, but it isn’t her mother, isn’t any of the aunties she knows, and Kira pauses. 

“I’m looking for my mum,” she says before the woman can get any words out, “please, I need to find her to get her back, it’s important, I can’t―” tears brim in her eyes, and Kira feels so  _ helpless “ _ ―I can’t lose her, too.”

“You’ll have to wait a little while,” she says softly, voice whispy and rhythmic, like waves lapping over stones at the seaside, “Sarah’s talking to Beth right now.” Kira blinks, hopeful, because she hadn’t said she  _ couldn’t  _ talk to her mother. “In the meantime, I’m sure there are a few people here you’d like to see.” Kira nods, tentatively, and takes the hand offered to her. 

“I’m Jennifer, by the way,” the woman tells her, voice light and smile kind, “Jennifer Fitzsimmons.”

“Kira Manning,” Kira tells her, because Mrs. S taught her that it was always polite to introduce herself, and Jennifer just smiles at her like she knows things she doesn’t, and nods. 

Jennifer leads her along, and somewhere during their journey Kira realizes their path transforms into a view of the ocean. 

“This place is different for everyone, the ocean is where I’m most at home,” Jennifer explains, “how many times have you been here?”

“A few,” Kira says, vaguely, because she doesn’t really remember. 

“Your bond with your mother must be very strong, then,” Jennifer comments, impressed, “you must love her very much.” She leaves it at that, and then the image changes, and suddenly Kira is in the living room of Mrs. S’s home, assaulted by familiar scents of scones in the oven and the screech of tea in the kettle. Kendall is sitting outside on the porch, smoking a cigarette, and Mika is hunched over on the couch, deep in conversation with a blonde clone, and Kira can hear Mrs. S singing in the kitchen. 

Kira looks up at Jennifer hopefully, and she nods. 

“Go on.”

Mika smiles at her brightly and introduces her to Niki. She’s happy here, doesn’t tug on the drawstrings of her hoodie, and she lets Kira hug her tightly, whispering sweet little words in finnish in her ear. Kendall pinches her cheeks and tells her she’s grown. And then Kira ventures into the kitchen, where Mrs. S is waiting for her with a cup of tea just the way she likes it. 

Kira ignores the tea and runs straight at her, grabbing at her desperately, and Mrs. S chuckles somewhat sadly and hugs her back, tucking Kira’s flyaway hairs behind her ears. 

“I miss you,” Kira sniffles, because she’s all cried up, and S smiles at her. 

“I miss you too, chicken, but know that I love you so much, and that I’m always with you, right here.” She presses her finger to Kira’s heart. “And right up here, with all the things I taught ya.” She touches Kira’s head. “Even though a decent poker face was never one of ‘em.” Kira laughs wetly, and Mrs. S kisses her forehead. 

They stay like that for a long time, hugging each other and sipping tea, before Jennifer appears in the doorway, beckoning. 

“Sarah’s done with Beth.”

Kira casts a look back at Mrs. S, who smiles at her one last time, pulling her in tightly. 

“Go on and live, chicken,” she instructs, gently but firmly, “make sure those troublemakers of mine don’t get into too much mischief.” Kira nods, and then follows Jennifer out. Before they reach the door, there’s the sound of feet running down the stairs, and then a pair of bright, intelligent,  _ young  _ eyes staring at her. 

“Aisha,” Kira breathes out, because Charlotte speaks about her too much for Kira not to recognize her, and the younger girl smiles at her. 

“Would you tell Charlotte that I am okay?” she asks, softly. “And to not be guilty? It is very brave of her to keep going, and I admire her for that.” Kira nods, and Aisha hesitates. “And, tell her, tell her that I miss her? But that it’s alright.” 

They smile at one another for a long moment, two girls who had the weight of too much thrust upon them, and then Jennifer leads Kira away. 

The scene changes again, to what Kira recognizes at Beth’s apartment, and she sees her mother with her, both of their faces flooding with emotions, and here, Kira can feel them both, her mother and  _ Beth _ . With a jolt, she realizes she can feel Jennifer, too, and Mika, and Niki, and Katja, and the others. 

Sarah looks at her, eyes wide, surprised. 

“Monkey!” she exclaims, sinking to her knees as Kira runs for her, accepting her embrace easily. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t let you leave,” Kira says, adamantly, “you  _ promised _ . We have to go home.” Sarah looks up at Beth, who smiles at Kira fondly, and Kira looks to Jennifer, who regards the whole affair warmly. 

“Can I?”

“You always were a stubborn one,” Beth huffs, crossing her arms over her chest, and Sarah laughs, neutralizing her accent so that she sounds like Beth before shooting back:

“You’re damn right.”

They all turn to Jennifer, and Kira realizes that she’s the one here who has the most say, and she tries to fit all her desperation in her eyes, because she needs her mother, needs her more than anything. She can feel Sarah’s own uncertainty, and Beth’s steady determination, something her mother had picked up on. 

Jennifer smiles at them kindly and nods. 

“Just follow the ocean.”

Sarah reaches for Kira’s hand and Jennifer opens the door for them. 

“C’mon, monkey, let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm really not ready for tomorrow's episode and this is my way of coping :,) gotta love pain and speculation and even more pain but anYWAYS. thanks so much for reading! hope you enjoyed. comments and kudos are always appreciated, they are the fuel that keep me going in the long winter to come. 
> 
> as always, you can prompt me on my tumblr, [here](danaryas.tumblr.com), or check out some of my other works (including a trans peter parker fic if that floats ur goat), [here](archiveofourown.org/users/sam_kom_trashkru/works)
> 
> have a lovely day/night!


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